Traitor's Luck
by Northstar1
Summary: PG for mild swearing. Welcome to the third arc of the Diviner Chronicles! Things are going well in the Labyrinth, but someone wants revenge on Jareth. And an old character resurfaces, but what is his part in the conspiracy? As always, please R and R.
1. Traitor's Luck- Chapter I

# Traitor's Luck

  


#### Prologue

  
By Northstar  
  


Disclaimer: Well, I'm back again. My muse has started taking drastic measures and threatened to give me a hernia if I didn't continue the saga of Galadrea and company. Now, I don't own anything pertaining to Ravenloft, though I have decided to work a few items into the story. Except for my characters, I don't own Labyrinth or anything pertaining to it. Just this story. BLah blah...if I left anything out, sorry. Now, lets get on with the story...  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Prologue  
  


In a place outside of normal space, two people met to plot the downfall of a king. As they appeared, their indigo velvet robes swirled around their feet, making slight whispering sounds as they brushed across the floor. Their hoods low to conceal their features, the conspirators acknowledged each other's presence.  
"Well, is the spy in place?" a feminine voice asked, sultry and sweet at the same time.  
"All is in readiness. I trust that you are fullfilling your part of the plan? Does he suspect anything?" a sibilant male voice countered, the harshness of stone underlying the cultured politeness.  
In response, a light laughter rang out from the female figure, but instead of the usual melodic chiming, it was as the sound of shattering glass. "The foolish mage is wrapped around my little finger. He suspects nothing."  
"Excellent. Then let's set events in motion. By the end of the month, the king shall fall," the cultured voice continued. The feminine figure began to laugh again, but this time it was the shriek of a banshee.  
"Long live the king!"  


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  
The barren wasteland spread out before him, desolation broken only by a ruined fortress every now and then. As the dry, scorching wind tore at his cloak's hood, the man shielded his eyes. Somewhere out there lay a gate to the realm where her soul had been imprisoned. All he needed to do was survive long enough to rescue it and the return to his kingdom.  
Reaching down, a gloved hand caressed the golden hilt of the longsword that had been a gift from his advisor. It seemed as if only yesterday that things had been fine, yet now he bitterly wished he had taken full notice of all the warning signs that had been present. His mind flashed back to the beginning of all the trouble...  
  


* * * * *

  
"...And how many times will you blow up the lab in order to prove a point?" Royal Magical Advisor Galadrea Solardin asked, expasperation tinging her light, elvish voice. Across the banquet table, Jareth, King of the Goblins, speared his advisor with a dangerous glare.  
"Until I get the results I need," he replied, his usually cultured voice getting an edge of annoyance. It wasn't like he had taken out the entire castle, anyway. And besides, it was his castle, not hers!  
Rolling her eyes, the beautiful half-elf lifted her napkin and wiped her mouth. "Oh Jareth, why do you need it anyway? I mean, really? You have a full compliment of spells that allow you to give people false memories and make them forget certain things. Why is a time-control spell so needful to you?"  
With a clink, Jareth speared the roast meat on his plate, the fork going straight through and hitting the fine crystal plate. "I wouldn't have to play around with people's minds if I had a time-altering spell, don't you get it?"  
An innocent look crossed her pretty face. "But I thought you LIKED playing with peoples' minds!" she exclaimed, astonishment almost, but not quite, covering the mocking tone underlying her reply.  
With a vicious oath describing Galadrea's parentage, the king of the goblins threw down his silverware and left the table, his riding boots making an angry clicking noise as he stalked out of the dining hall. Galadrea merely looked after him, and as he left, turned to one of the nearby goblins innocently.  
"What did I say?"  


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  
His cloak billowing out behind him like an angry stormcloud, Jareth stalked through the palace in a blind rage. _Damn her, why does she always have to have the last word?!_ he asked of no one in particular. Wrenching open a finely-carved wooden door, the king strode out into the exotic garden that had become his sanctuary in the past five years.  
Lifting his handsome, angular face to the sky, he relished the silence as a soft, gentle night breeze caressed his face, slightly teasing the strands of hair that had worked themselves loose from his ponytail. Times like these, he wished Gala hadn't taken him up on his offer. He hadn't had this much frustration since that nasty incident with the priest and that damnable holy symbol that had ended up with him banished...  
_...the tide of battle swept around the priests that had dared to challenge his stronghold. Yet, something was wrong. He had held dominion over the land for over 200 years. The Von Zaroviches had always been worthy foes, but the priests had never posed any threat. Which was why he had allowed them to exist. Now, for some reason, his minions had started to decrease in power.   
The King turned away from the castle window and strode down numerous staircases to the entrance hall. Summoning the powers at his command, he cloaked himself in invisibity and awaited the priests. Time to put an end to those presumptuous fools..._  
...the past faded and Jareth found himself back in the lush garden. Grimacing, he remembered clearly what had followed. The priests had gained a powerful artifact from their god, called the Holy Symbol of Ravenkind. He had nearly been destroyed in that encounter. Instead, he had struck a bargain, and ended up banished to the Underground.   
Shaking his head, he ran his nimble, dexterous fingers through his hair, bring it back under control. Sighing, he turned around and softly strode back into the castle.  


* * * * * * * * *

Across the planes, another figure was looking up at the night sky, remembering.  
"What are you thinking about, love?" a delicate voice asked, as slender limbs wrapped themselves around the young mage's waist. Startled, Indros turned around and gazed down into the face of his pretty companion.  
"I was just thinking about my sister, Galadrea again. It's been so long since she left the tower, and I haven't heard anything from her. I just wondered how she was doing, if she was okay," he replied, his soft voice filled with gentle concern and wonder.  
The young invoker's mouth turned downwards in an expression of sorrow. Tilting her face up, Natela Vandree brushed her ebony lips across the young Solardin's. With a deep sigh, Indros relaxed, returning the kiss and capturing the slender drow elf in his strong arms.  
Gradually, after some time, both surfaced for air. Natela shook her mane of silver and smiled reassuringly. "If you are so worried, why don't we open a gate and go check on her?" her lyrical voice suggested. Indros appeared to consider it, though the cunning drow knew he had already decided what to do. Still, he was so attractive when his clear brow furrowed in deep thought. Throughout the entire valley, Indros Solardin was considered quite a catch, for both elf and human female alike. Yet, he never took time away from his studies to pursue romance.  
At least, not until the renegade drow sorceress had come to the valley, seeking refuge from her murderous kindred. A follower of both Eilistrae and Mystra, the faye and exotic Natela had been able to capture Indros's attention. Perhaps because she too was a mage and understood the lifestyle he lived... 

* * * * * * * ** *

  
As a blazing fire roared in the hearth, Galadrea considered her earlier words to Jareth. She hadn't meant to cut him like that, but her mouth had a mind of its own. Frowning in concentrating as she searched the orange and red flames for guidance, she reflected on her behavior the past few months.  
Things had been going well, with Jareth making so much progress in the magical arts that he had easily become the equal in magical power to what he had once been before studying the Art. Yet, these past few months had been an almost never-ending string of taunts, quarells, and one-upping. It was as if she had reverted back to the young, cocky diviner she had been when she first confronted Jareth, the Goblin King.  
A delicate, soft smile curved her generous lips. Those had been magical days, when she and her little brother had both been students in the Tower of Illumination. Now, her first adventure through the magical Labyrinth seemed like a sweet dream, a time when she had been strong, invulnerable, and superior, and Jareth had been so intimidating and powerful and seductive...  
Shaking her head, Galadrea pushed those traitorous little thoughts from her mind. A rueful grin changed her appearance from serious to impish. Okay, so her King was handsome, yet he had had his chance all those years ago, when Jareth had been trapped on Toril. If he hadn't noticed her then, then he probably wouldn't. She owed him so much...  
The gentle rustling of her samite robe was all that could be heard as she abandoned the warmth of the fire and went in search of Jareth. Gala didn't have to walk far, the object of her secret affections was approaching from the far end of the corridor.  
Jareth looked up, startled and not quite pleased to see his advisor. The calm he had recovered began to melt away as a cold, polite smile curved his thin lips.  
"Well, what is it now, my lady? I have work to attend to," he said, anger in his voice. Expecting a snappy comeback, Jareth blinked his mismatched eyes when her reply came.  
"Jareth, I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice holding a strange emotion that the king had heard only on certain occasions. Quickly, Jareth searched her face for any signs of mocking and found none. The anger that had disturbed his calm drained out of him. There was something in her dark blue eyes that disturbed him. "I had no call to say what I did. I, well-- I haven't been myself lately."  
Bowing her head, the mage stepped to the side to let her king pass. For a minute, Jareth was struck by her appearance. He hadn't noticed it before, but she was nearly as tall as he. _Why haven't I noticed this before?_ he wondered silently, gazing at Galadrea as if seeing her for the first time. Mentally, he compared the woman who stood beside him to the young diviner who had solved his labyrinth and aided him in his quest for magic.  
The platinum hair had turned pure silver, and the face had become more angular, more careworn. Lines of worry webbed her beautiful eyes, which had once been a vibrant, crystal blue that pierced the heart, now deepened to a color approaching the sky at midnight. She now moved with a grace and poise that spoke of great power and experience, no longer the cocky stride of a young girl. The changes were not exactly soothing to him.  
"Neither have I," he returned softly, his voice full of questions. Reaching out a black-gloved hand, he gently turned her face so that they met each other's eyes again. "Pretty one, what's wrong?" he asked gently.  
With a ragged sigh, Galadrea backed up and dashed away the tears that had appeared in her eyes. "It-it's nothing, Jareth. I just miss my brother, that's all. I haven't seen him for such a long time, you know," she said, forcing her voice to lighten up. Jareth wasn't fooled for one minute.  
"Why haven't you told me? I would have gladly gone and fetched him for you!" he spoke, putting false shock into his voice. "If you desire to see your brother again, I shall bring him here."  
Galadrea smiled, her heart lightening for a moment, as excitement at seeing her brother again swept her despair away. For a brief minute, her eyes seemed to become clear and bright again. "Thank you Jareth!" she said brightly, cheer lacing her voice.  
Clearing his throat, Jareth turned towards the fire. "Well, since we are expecting visitors for the party tommorrow,, I guess we should turn in, hmmm?" he said, as he began to head for his rooms. Behind him, Galadrea's bright grin faded to a sad smile. Slowly, she made her way back to her chambers as well.  


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  
Outside, a storm broke over the castle. Far below, in the courtyard, a small hooded figure gazed up at the castle with hatred in his heart, and a desire for revenge coursing through veins that he had always claimed held the blood of a coward.  
Almost 100 and ten years had passed since her appearance in the labyrinth, and now she was back again, but this time in a new form, bereft of memories and trusting her old tormentor. The thought twisted around his heart and brought a gleam of hatred into his eyes. He must be careful, however. The time for vengence would come soon.  
  


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  
  


To Be Continued...


	2. Traitor's Luck- Chapter II

# Traitor's Luck

  


#### Chapter II

  
By Northstar  
  


Disclaimer: I don't own Labyrinth or any of its characters. I don't own anything pertaining to the Ravenloft setting either. All of my characters are mine, as is the story. Now, on to chapter two.  


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  
  
Another fair day had dawned over the valley, and after the nasty rainstorm last night, it was much appreciated. It was festival time, the two weeks out of every year when trade caravans and wandering bards and minstrels came into the valley, bringing their wonderful tales of far-off places and adventures, and singing the epic ballads of love and chivalry.  
Normally, Indros would have been one of the first to drop by the marketplace and meet the merchants, asking for news of his sister. However, today he had something else planned- something that the archmages of the tower would never have approved of, much less allowed. Today was the day that Indros, with the help of his lady friend, Natela Vandree, would attempt a powerful gate spell in order to visit his sister.  
"Before we go through with this, love," rose Natela's sweet voice, "are you sure that your sister is in the Underground?"  
Continuing his study of the enchanted circle, he absently answered back, "Yes, I'm sure. After she was banished from the tower for releasing the Goblin King, and then taking his side, there is no place she could be. It's highly unlikely she stayed on Toril, since with her banishment, word would have gotten out that no-one would take her on." Busily checking the runes formed with powdered silver, the young half-elf let his words die out as he corrected a small, but important mistake.  
"Well, put like that, I would have to agree. When I fled Menzoberranzan, there was no-place left for me in the Night Below," Natela confirmed. "I would have been put to death as a spy had I tried to flee to another Drow city, and would surely have perished in the deadly wildlands. The surface was my only refuge."  
"Now isn't that interesting," came a smooth voice that made Natela start, and Indros whirl around in astonishment. Swift as thought, the deadly dark elf began the words that would summon a crushing force and destroy the intruder like a bug. However, Indros quickly stepped between the two, his face a mixture of astonishment and confusion.  
"Jareth!" Indros gasped, able to do nothing but stare at his old captor. The King of the Goblins just stood there, an amused, cold, and mocking smile on his face. He light tugged on his gloves, waiting for Indros to come out of his stupor. The silence dragged on.  
"Indros, this fop is the male your sister left Toril for?!" came the invoker's voice, scorn and laughter ringing through the room. Immediately, Jareth's smile dropped, and he approached the drow menacingly.  
Before they could destroy each other, Indros grabbed the king's silk-clad arm, holding him back. "What in the name of the Abyss of you doing here?" he asked, his usually melodic voice going deeper into a threatening growl.  
Cold, mismatched eyes stared into Indros's clear blue elven ones, and with a smooth gesture, tugged his arm free from the half-elf's grip. "I had come to fetch you. Your sister misses her brother, and asked that I allow you to visit. I am now seriously reconsidering my offer."  
"You are not needed," came Natela's smug voice. "Indros and I have prepared a spell that will take us right to Galadrea, so you have no power over our coming and going." Natela's voice was laced with contempt, for after all, this WAS a male after all, who was probably older than most elves, yet had given up his unlimimted powers for magic. How could she have any respect for a creature like this?  
"Well, well, so little Indros 'the fiend from hell' Solardin has grown some teeth, and is now protected by a Drow, hmmm? My, maybe I should just go back to the castle and let you little fools attempt your spell. It should be extremely entertaining to see you fail," Jareth taunted, a thin smile just barely allowing the two mages a glimpse of his tiny fangs.  
"And what makes you think we would fail?" Indros asked, once again maneuvering himself between his lover and the goblin king. I swear these two are going to kill each other if they are in the same room for much longer, he thought in worry. Natela was extremely powerful, but so was Jareth, and who knew what powers he had obtained since having Galadrea for a tutor. The sheer amount of potential destruction was enough to make Indros break out into a cold sweat.  
Nonchalantly, the king of the goblins stepped back, wrapping his black, glittering cape around himself. "The palace is protected by so many wards and guards you wouldn't be able to even open a window from the outside without my express permission, or that of your sister's. Now, do you want to end up who-knows-where with your transport spell, or do you wish me to take you there safely?"  
When Jareth put it that way, Indros realized he had no choice. Nodding, he held out his hand for Natela's, not noticing the slightly self-satisfied smirk on her face.  
  


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  
Back at the castle, Galadrea busily checked, double-checked, and triple-checked all of the preparations for Jareth's little celebration. The goblins were all away, Gala having sent them out into the Labyrinth so they wouldn't mess her preparations up.  
Holding up the hem of her robe, she quickly made her way to the kitchen, where an invisible servant she had summoned was dutifully cooking an excellent banquet. Normally, the goblin cook would have done so, but Gala had basically kicked the small creatures out of the castle for the duration of Indros's visit.  
"Let's see," she murmured, removing a scroll from her sash. "Banquet food, check. Castle cleanup, check. Invitations sent out to apprentices, check. Invitations to the neighboring kingdoms, check." As she paced down the hall, she used a quill pen to check off each item on the list. _The dignitaries should start arriving in about four hours. I hope Jareth's back by then. It wouldn't do for the host to miss his own party,_ she thought, sighing in exhaustion as she collapsed in a carved, high-back chair.  
Jareth was celebrating the one thousandth year of his reign, and had demanded that it be a gala event. Which meant, of course, that his advisor got stuck with all the details. Normally, Galadrea was like Jareth, and had no use for the idiots that ruled the other kingdoms. "None of them could even sneeze without putting the idea before their royal advisors and arguing over it for a good century," she muttered. About the only bright spot of the event would be that her brother and her and Jareth's apprentices would be present.  
A smile of contentment curved her lips as she thought back on the past seven years. Upon her arrival, she had spent an entire year with Jareth in intense study of magic. After that, requests had come from various denizens of the underground for training in the Aboveground magical arts. Jareth had been against the process at first, until Galadrea had explained that having such contacts and spies loyal to them in the other kingdoms would be of great potential use. A lover of intrigue, Jareth had seized upon the idea with a ferocity that scared her. _It would be just like him to contemplate taking over the other soveriegn states._  
Shaking her head free of the old memories, she made herself get up and headed to the throne room. As she swept through the arched doorway, she saw the king and her brother fade into view. Galadrea was quite startled to see a third figure, which wasn't surprising considering that the third person was a Drow.  


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  
  
"Hmph. A 3rd year priestess of Lloth could transport better than that!" Natela informed the entire throne room, her clear voice echoing up through the rafters. Almost immediately, Galadrea had to stifle a laugh.  
"Oh really, my dear black elf? Well, how would you like to be transported into the Bog of Eternal Stench?" Jareth replied, his voice calm, yet with hints of steel running through it. Galadrea watched in amusement in the shadows for a minute as Indros tried to keep the two separated. When the dark elf started to weave her delicate finger through the beginnings of a spell, Gala decided that things had gone far enough.  
"Indros!" she shouted with sincere glee, as she jogged over to the trio of mages.  
"Gala?!" her brother exclaimed, delight and wonder showing in his mellow voice. Indros met his sister halfway, and in delight picked her up in a bear hug, twirling them both around.  
Grinning like a maniac, Galadrea freed herself. "Look at you, little brother! Well, not so little now, I guess! Has it really been seven years?" she asked in astonishment. For, Indros had GROWN. He was now taller than his older sister by half-a-head, and his golden hair was cropped extremely short. _My, how people change,_ Gala silently wondered to herself. At the sound of a delicate cough, she turned to greet the dark elf.  
"Oh, Gala, this is my fiancee, Natela Vandree!" Indros said, holding out a hand to the beautiful drow. Natela glided forward and held out her hand in comradeship.  
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Galadrea. Your brother has told me so much about you," she said in greeting. Galadrea stood there in shock, then remembered her manners.  
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Natela," Galadrea murmured. "You will pardon my manners, but I've been busy preparing for the celebration this evening, so I'm a little worn out."  
Shooting Gala a nasty look that said _You owe me one!_, Jareth stalked past the group and towards the entrance to the room. "If you three don't mind," he said, his voice literally dripping with incincerity, "I am going to see if the preparations are up to my standards!" And with that he was gone. The three looked at each other, and for a minute, no one spoke.  
"Good gods, you two! What did you do to set him off?" Galadrea finally burst out. Indros groaned, and Natela simply smiled.  
"I called him a fop, which was only the truth," the drow female stated matter-of-factly. "Of course, I was being polite. Honestly, Gala, I don't see how you put up with that male, I mean, the ego is totally out of proportion!"   
For some reason, the drow wizardess's tone set Galadrea's mental hairs to bristling. Galadrea looked closely at the woman, her dark, blue eyes searching the bottomless black one, searching for something that she wasn't sure existed. Though the woman seemed all right at first, even likable, there was something about her that struck Gala as being wrong.  
"Hey, sis. If you don't mind, why don't you show us to our rooms, eh?" Indros asked, utterly missing the tension between the two women. Looking up at Indros, Gala nodded, and her smile and good mood returned.  
"You're right! The two of you will probably want to freshen up before the event tonight. How about I come get the two of you in an hour and give you a tour of the castle?" she offered, wanting to spend more time with the female that seemed to have caught her little brother's heart in a web of steel.  
"That would be lovely, Gala," Natela said, a lovley, charming smile on her face. With a grin, Galadrea led the two off to the rooms she had prepared. Lagging a little behind, in appearance allowing the brother and sister to catch up on old times, neither noticed Natela's slight frown.  
Though Gala had hidden it as well as any drow matron mother, Natela was sure that the half-elf witch suspected something. _I'll just have to do something about that..._  


* * * * * * * * * * * * *

  
  
"...and this is the laboratory Jareth and I had built," Galadrea proclaimed with pride as the trio entered a well-stocked mage's workroom.   
Indros let out a low whistle in appreciation. Everything a mage would ever need in spell research or potion and magical item creation was supplied in great measure. A case of spell scrolls detailing arcane formulae completely lined one whole section of the east wall. The rest of the wall was dedicated to a humongous shelf of spell books and magical research tomes the equal of any archmagus's library. A rolling ladder stretched up to the 18 shelf, and allowed easy access to any of the tomes that the owners or their apprentices would need.  
There was even a mahogany shelf full of nothing but various wands and magical rings. Turning around in amazement, Natela had to silently agree with Indros.   
"By Eilistrae, Gala! How have the two of you managed to accumulate all of this in a mere seven years? It would take any three mages a lifetime to accumalate this many tomes and artifacts!"  
Galadrea smiled a little smugly. "Oh, about half of this is not on Aboveground magic, my dear Natela. Quite a few of these tomes and artifacts were found here, in the Underground. Mine and Jareth's apprentices have scoured the majority of the kingdoms here in search of such artifacts. The others were aquired on Aboveground business," she elaborated in a bored voice, making it sound as if it was nothing, and that all mages of any worth should have the same.  
The comment rankled Natela deeply, though she didn't let it show. "I am impressed, sis!" Indros exclaimed, turning a proud grin on his sister. "Our-I mean, MY father, said that odds are you would end up a failure, a worthless slave to the king. I told him he was wrong, that if anyone could prosper, it would be you!" After saying that, his face fell.   
"And speaking of OUR father, Galadrea, he was killed by a blue dragon two years ago," Indros said in a hushed voice. He examined his sister's face intently, yet he saw not one hint of emotion at that bit of information. _What did you expect? They hated each other!_ he chided himself, yet still, he had hoped that his sister would show a little emotion other than cold hatred and contempt.   
Her eyes were like dark shards of ice in that moment, then she replied, "I am truly sorry for your loss, Indros. I assume the two of you were close?" Cold, polite inquiry was all that Galadrea was going to give the memory of the arrogant old archmage.  
With a sigh, Indros dropped the subject. "Of course," he murmured. Just then, a thirteen-hour clock began to chime the fifth hour. The mood was broken, and it seemed to Natela as if a dark cloud had suddenly lifted from the room.  
"Ah, it's five!" Gala exclaimed. "The guests should be arriving soon, so I will leave the two of you so that I can get ready. I trust you will be able to find your way to the banquet hall?" she asked, suddenly preoccupied. As the two nodded their affirmatives, Galadrea hurried off.  
_Now, all I have to do is find Jareth and calm him down before the event_.  


* * * * * * * * * *

  
The small figure hurriedly stepped out of the way as Galadrea rushed past. He planned on being at the banquet too, in disguise as a servant. Shifting restlessly from foot to foot, the creature awaited his contact.  
"You go on, Indros, and I'll catch up! I want to look around the study a little more," came that eerie, chiming voice. As the brother strode past, he never even noticed the shadowy figure. _Hmph. I wonder if that is what the baby looked like when it was growed up?_ the figure thought to itself. The squat figure stood up as straight as he could when the lady left the study.  
"Is everything in order?" she said, turning a piercing, glowing red gaze upon the small figure.  
"Er, yes, it is, Miss Vandree," the figure answered. "The time, is it still scheduled tonight at the banquet?" he asked, hoping that there were no last minute changes. Being in the palace was unnerving him, and it wasn't too safe either.  
Ever since he stood up with Sarah against Jareth all those years ago, he had walked on thin ice with the Goblin King. Now, finally, it was payback, if he didn't get killed first.  
"Yes," Natela hissed. "The time to strike will be at the banquet. You will know when to fire the wand. Just make sure you don't miss, or we are all dead!"  
Nodding his head, the cloaked being kept silent. Natela Vandree, high priestess and mage of the Goddess of Chaos, Lloth, continued on her way. After she had passed, the creature shuddered. That one was unnerving to be around.  
"Eh, don't you worry none, milady, I'll see to it that I don't miss that bastard, or my name's not Hoggle!" he muttered, before retreating. There were still some personal safeguards he needed to set up. He would be a fool to blindly trust the drow. That was one thing he had learned well...trust no one.  


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  
  
"...and see to it that the food is brought out with no difficulty, or I'll tip you headfirst into the Bog of Eternal Stench, understand?" the King threatened the servers. With scared nods of their heads, the serving goblins acknowledged their King's commands.  
"Jareth? Can I speak with you?" Galadrea asked in a serious tone as she entered the Goblin King's opulantly luxurious study. Looking up from the miriad of official documents that covered his oaken desk, the handsome king nodded.  
"Of course, pretty one. By the way, I really don't like that drow bitch your brother seems so fond of," he chided, a mocking, sarcastic tone in his voice. Keeping a grin from her face, Galadrea could not help being amused at Natela's treatment of Jareth.  
"Reminds you a bit to much of youself, hmm?" Galadrea gently joked, a grim smile on her face. "Actually, she is what I needed to see you about. I don't trust her!" There, it was out. That nasty feeling that had been plaguing Galadrea had finally been given form. Jareth frowned thoughtfully, for what Galadrea had proclaimed was no light matter. Though years had passedd since her exile from the Tower of Illumination, Gala had still remained on the path of the diviner. As such, she had a wealth of knowledge at her command, and was capable of finding any information about just practically anything.  
It was also a known fact that Galadrea had the best judgement of other mages that Jareth had ever seen. If Gala was uneasy, then there was something to be uneasy about. "Do you know specifically what it is?" he asked in a deadly serious voice. If there was threat posed by Natela, it would have to be dealt with immediately.  
With a nod of her head, Galadrea accepted the unspoken compliment to her information-finding abilities. "Though the feeling is nebulous, if has the tone of a deadly threat. Natela must be taken care of, but the problem is Indros. He's infatuated with her," she finished in disgust. While she had no specific prejudices against the drow race other than what she knew about them, she felt that at least Indros would have known better than to give another being his heart so easily.  
"He'll get over it, sooner or later," Jareth replied coldly, standing up and sweeping towards the study door. "I did..."  
Galadrea raised an elegant eyebrow as she strode beside her king. "I take it you've been through this before?" she asked, softly. The response she got stunned her.  
With a fierce growl, Jareth spun and seized Gala by the collar of her robes. Forcing her against the wall, the Goblin King stared into her midnight-blue eyes. "Do not ever, EVER, go there Solardin!" he whispered in a sibilant voice. Then, it was over. Jareth released Galadrea, who slumped against the stone wall, a delicate hand covering her throat as Jareth stepped back, his face impassive.  
As she recovered herself, Galadrea found speech almost impossible. She had never, and she meant never, seen Jareth so ready to kill, murder bright in his mismatched eyes. For the first time since she had met Jareth, Gala wondered if the man was completely sane. The tone of bells began to chime, and Jareth's eyes narrowed.  
"It seems we will have to solve the problem of Natela at a later date, my dear," Jareth said, forcing himself to calm down. Gala's words had hit a deep wound that he thought had been closed up for almost a century. Her casual question had proven that the wound hadn't even healed properly, instead festering beyond where he couldn't see it. "Our guests are arriving, and I don't want any hint of trouble brought up around them. They would jump at the chance to inconvenience me in any way," he elaborated in a mocking tone.  
"Ah, the proverbial piranas have arrive," Gala barely joked, still unsettled by Jareth's sudden rage, and even more nervous at his returned coldness. The king held out one gloved, fine-boned hand.  
"My lady?" he asked, "shall we go greet our guests?" Whatever the trouble was, Jareth fervently hoped that it wouldn't come tonight. As befitting an affair of state, there were no weapons and no magic allowed.  
"My King, I think it would be the height of rudeness to keep them waiting," Gala replied, putting her hand in his. With a sigh, she hoped that Indros would forgive her in time.  
The two were interrupted by a goblin messenger. "Yer majesty, the guests have arrived." The servitor backed away as the arched doors slowly opened to reveal a brightly lit room. For some reason, Jareth thought the servitor looked familiar, then dismissed the creature entirely.  
Together, the two mages entered the banquet hall, ready to face whatever would come.  
He hoped.  
  


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To Be Continued

  



	3. Traitor's Luck- Chapter III

# Traitor's Luck

  


### Chapter III 

  
By Northstar  
  


Disclaimer: If you have reached this far, you know where the disclaimer is. So, on with the story, ne?  
  


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Together, Goblin King and Mage entered the banquet hall. Light from seven glorious, clear, enchanted crystal chandeliers shone down in a dazzling rainbow on the other dignitaries. As the other diplomats rose in grudging respect to Jareth, Galadrea covertly looks around, reading the facial expressions, or lack thereof, on the coldly polite guests. This was an affair of state, and as usual at such events, intrigue would be running high with conspiracy keeping pace.  
The shimmering magical light glinted off the ornamentation and jewels adorning each of the politicians, but Jareth outshown them all in a magnificent military-style tunic of deep azure highlighted with black blue sapphires. Black gloves, tights, and boots completed the ensemble. By contrast, Galadrea beside him was the sobriety to her king's flamboyance. A simply but elegant set of white samite robes swirled around her slim figure. Gold thread glinted at the hems and the sleeves, and her hair was hanging down her back like a stream of molten silver, held in place by a gold circlet set with a single sapphire that was as dark as her eyes.  
Murmurs of appreciation from Jareth's and Gala's apprentices, both current and former, greeted them, but were quickly stifled by the glares from the royal dignitaries that were in attendance. Galadrea felt as if she had stepped into a pool filled with hungry sharks.  
"Ah, good evening to you all," Jareth greeted the group, a devilish and mocking smile on his sharply-chiseled face. "Tonight, I have have invited all of you here to help me celebrate the one-thousandth anniversary of my rule here in the Underground. Spare me your false compliments, I know very well that the majority of you would rip my throat out if you could get away with it!" Raising his hands to silence the outraged and utterly insincere replies from his fellow monarchs, Jareth continued.  
"That is neither here nor there, however. Tonight is a night to socialize, and to enjoy a magnificent feast which my magical advisor, Galadrea Solardin, has taken great pains in preparing." With those words, Jareth moved to a place at the head of the table, Galadrea taking the place at his right hand. That was the signal for the rest of the guests to take their places. To Gala's right were her brother Indros, dressed in an emerald-green velvet tunic with white pants and black boots. His spun-gold hair was brushed elegantly back and held in place by a white leather ribbon. Beside the half-elf was his fiancee, Natela Vandree, dressed in an indigo-black robe that had silver threads cunningly woven into it that mimicked starlight. Like Gala, she too scanned the crowded hall with her eyes, searching for hints of treason and conspiracy. Such was the way of the Drow race that she would have never thought to do otherwise.  
Upon sitting down, goblin servitors in neat, clean outfits quietly began bringing in the first course. Succulent roast meats and leafy green salads were soon filling the long banquet table. Other servitors stood by with trays of glasses and carafes of fayewine and quickly supplied the guest. As if it were a universal signal, the dignitaries relaxed and the apprentices dug into the food. One of Gala's first apprentices, a young man by the name of Joshuan, engaged Natela in a discussion of magical runes and symbols. As the sounds of a merry banquet filled the hall, Gala sipped her wine and turned to her brother.  
"You look great, Indros. If I didn't know better, I would say that you've been exercising a great deal!" his sister commented merily. Indros's eyes lightened up as he realized that Gala was in a better mood now.  
"Ah, just a little sis. After you left, I thought it would be useful if I learned to use a sword, so I talked a dwarven smith in the town into giving me lessons. He said that you owed him a story, Gala. What was he talking about?" Indros asked, a cheerful but puzzled expression on his face. Galadrea groaned and began to chuckle.  
"Oh my! I completely forgot about him," she laughed merrily. "You see, I bought Jareth a beautifully crafted longsword from that dwarf, and he let me have it at a great price, if I promised to return and give him the tale of our adventure." A flicker of remorse crossed her features for a minute. "But with the ban, I wasn't able to return. And to tell the truth, I forgot!" A grin pulled her lips into a merry smile. "I see the rumors of the memories of hill dwarves are long indeed!"  
Indros joined his sister in the laughter, and for a space of time, it was as if nothing had changed. Yet, ever at the fringe of Gala's vision, was Jareth, who was deep in conversation with Lord Milgris of the second army of Zaien, which bordered Jareth's kingdom on the northern flank. Currently, that was the only place that even remotely threatened the kingdom, simply because the kingdom of Zaien was a kingdom of gnomes, who had a full array of mechanical war devices. A treaty with Zaien was of the utmost importance.  
"More wine, milady?" came a deep, hoarse voice. With an absent nod, she paid no attention to the servitor. As her glass was refilled, she paid particular attention to Jareth's hand gestures. Almost as soon as they had begun working together, Gala and Jareth had worked out a language based on the hand signaling language of the Drow race, thought Gala had altered it so that a number of the gestures were in the language of magic, rather than normal gestures.  
*Something's very, very wrong, Jareth, but I can't place what it is!* Gala signed, disguising her gestures as simple emphasis of a point in her conversation with Indros.  
*I know,* came Jareth's silent reply. *But I don't think it's any of the diplomats or our apprentices, though.*  
"You there, more wine," Jareth said out loud, motioning to a nearby server.  
"You majesty, I think King Dornel will most pleased by the terms of the treaty," the dignitary from Zaien commented, pleased himself with the way that things had been handled.  
"Huh. Too bad you won't be around to see it, you rat," the winecarrier said, backing up, something held in it's small hands. Silence fell in the hall as Jareth turned slowly to face the server.  
"Well well, Hoggle. So, you've finally crawled out of whatever hole you've been hiding in all these decades, eh?" Jareth drawled slowly, rising to tower over the old dwarf. "As if treason wasn't enough, now you've moved onto assassination? You've moved up in the world, old boy," the King said, his voice coldly mocking with an obvious hint of threat in it. However, instead of cowering, Hoggle straightened and his hand became steady as he pointed the magical wand at Jareth's heart.  
"Yer gonna pay for yer crimes Jareth, tormenting Sarah all those years ago, and trying to keep her a servant here now that she's been reborn--" Hoggle continued, rage in his voice, until he was cut off by Galadrea.  
"What in the name of Bane is going on? Reborn? What in the abyss are you talking about little dwarf?" she interrupted, her voice full of command and power. "Put that wand down before you hurt yourself!" she commanded, holding out a delicate hand as if scolding an insolent child. "Well?"  
At her tone towards the diminuitive man, laughter rang out from all present, laugter that broke the thick tension. For the first time, Hoggle was unsure of himself. This certainly wasn't the Sarah he had known. As his hand wavered, he heard a lyrical voice in his mind.  
~Strike now, Hoggle!~  
~But-but-what if---?~  
~No time for that! You can show her the truth later! Now, STRIKE!~  
At that final command, Hoggle tightened his grip on the wand. "I hope you rot in hell, Jareth!" he spat, then fired.  
  


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A fiery bolt of lightning rushed out of the wand, streaking unerringly for the Goblin King's heart. For Galadrea, time seemed to slow, as the deadly missile approached. Jareth's stunned face told her all she needed to know: he wouldn't be able to get a shield up in time or dodge. That realization was all she needed to know, and that made her choice for her.  
"NOOO!" she screamed, her voice filled with hatred and resolve. Before anyone could intervene, Galadrea had placed herself in front of her King, knocking him away. As the bolt struck, time sped up again.  
A pain as harsh as that of an dagger stabbed into her breast, stealing her breath from her lungs, searing her throat with the heat of the missile. As Joshuan tackled the assassin, Indros rushed to his sister's side, leaving Natela sitting at the table. As quick as a snake, Vandree followed him.  
Gala began to sink down, falling backwards. Recovering, Jareth quickly caught her, a deep wrenching pain ripping him as he saw the damage the bolt had done. His eyes wide in shock and pain, he forgot all about the dwarf, who upon realizing what he had done, had given up struggling, a horrified look on his face.  
"Gala? Gala, listen to me!" Jareth hissed as he brushed her hair out of her face. His heart went cold as he looked into her beautiful blue eyes. Already, the light was beginning to fade from them. "Damn it, Solardin, don't you leave me," he commanded, his voice choked with emotion that he couldn't express. At that moment, all else faded. He didn't notice when Indros knelt beside him and took Gala's hand. As Jareth tenderly cradled Gala's broken body, he felt the life force slowly leaving her. As if she knew what was happening, she looked up into his mismatched eyes.  
"J-Jareth...?" she whispered, her voice hoarse with pain.  
"I'm here, luv, I'm here," he reassured her, not noticing how he had referred to her. At that moment, Jareth was trying to think of anything he could do, anything he could say that would keep the vibrant woman from leaving his side. "Don't leave me, I- I don't think I could go back to living by myself, all alone," he continued, praying with all of his heart that whatever god or goddess was listening would spare the woman who he had just realized meant so much to him.  
Sensing all the words he could not express, Galadrea slowly and painfully, with great effort, reached up her soft, fine-boned hand and gently caressed his cheek. "I wish-," she tried to say, couging and choking on her own blood as it trickled from her mouth, staining her pure white robes a dark crimson. "I wish you could have found out sooner," she said between gasps.  
With a deep, heart-wracking groan, the king of the goblins cradled the half-elven woman to his breast, staining his jacket with her red blood. As he held her, he felt her breathing slow.  
The light in her eyes faded, and then she was gone. Her hand fell lifeless from Jareth's face, leaving a dark streak of blood.  
"Gala, no..." her brother whispered as her held her other hand. His pain was as nothing though, compared to Jareth's. As he looked up through heartbroken eyes, he saw a sight the almost stopped his heart. There, on the king's cold features, was a single tear. Bowing his head, the King of the Goblins gently kissed Gala's now-cold lips, and held her close.  
  


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At the back of the crowd that had gathered around the king and his fallen advisor stood Natela, a cold smile on her lovely, dark face. Excellent! The dwarf had played his role perfectly. If everything went as planned, Jareth would go off in rage to try to reclaim his newly-found love. And in doing so, seal his own doom.  
Wiping the smile off of her face, the evil priestess made her way to Indros's side, a false tear rolling down her cheek.  
"Oh, Indros, I'm so sorry..." she whispered, reaching down and embracing him. As Indros held onto her, Jareth slowly rose and lifted Galadrea in his arms. Without another word, the King strode from the banquet hall. As he passed, none had the courage nor the strength to speak to him, merely bowing their heads and calling for their servants. The banquet was over, and they had to decide how to take advantage of what had just occurred.  
  


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As the scene faded from the crystal ball, a man's sibilant voice rang out with laughter. Natela had chosen her pawn wisely, and now they could move on to the next step. In the negative dimension, the hooded figure raised an arm and summoned a creature of shadow.  
"Go, take this scroll and place it among the Goblin King's papers," he said, holding out an ancient magical scroll. Silently , the shadow complied and slipped through the planes.  
Another gesture from the man brought a second creature into view. "Do you have it?" the cowled man asked, eagerly.  
With a toothy grin, the demon held up a crystal pendant that glowed faintly with the light of an entrapped soul. "I have it, all right. No one noticed my presence, they were all so concerned with the witch and the king!"  
Nodding in pleasure, the cowled man spoke for the final time. "Excellent. Take the pendant to the marilith known as Heratona, and remind her of the pact that she struck with me. We must handle the trap carefully, and I want no setbacks!"  
With a nod, the lesser demon left to complete its mission. It would not do to make the dark priest mad after all...the demon shuddered. There were few ways to torture a demon, but the priest knew them all. If the demon messed up, its punishment would be severe. That thought in mind, the demon entered the Abyss, leaving behind the world of mortals and entering the residence of the damned.  
  


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To Be Continued...

  
  



	4. Traitor's Luck- Chapter IV

# Traitor's Luck

## Chapter IV

  


#### By Northstar

  


  
Disclaimer: The disclaimer is in chapter one. If you have got this far, you don't need to read it again. Part songfic, since I thought the song fit this chapter. It's from Vision of Escaflowne, which I don't own. Enjoy!  
  


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The solitary sound of a tiny bell chimed out a music-box tune into the solemn chamber. On a bier cloaked in white, at the far end of the chamber, lay the body of Galadrea Solardin. As the majestic, solitary figure stood in vigilance, the words to the tune ran through his head.   
  
_So, Is everybody this lonely when they're in love?  
Do they embrace a pain that's even deeper than the darkness?  
  
_ Lonely in love...that was a feeling the goblin king had experience in. Almost a century ago, he had revealed his heart to another young girl, much like Gala, and had it broken. In response, he had kept everything and everyone away that might stir those feelings again. And for a century, it had worked...but then Gala had come and through her existence had cruelly ripped open the old scars.  
Thinking back, his eyes oblivious to the shrouded body, Jareth instead saw an elvish face, framed by long white hair, filled with determination and the fire of life. Her crystal clear blue eyes blazed in challenge to his rules. Then, a few years later, filled with sympathy and some other emotion that he had refused to acknowledge as she helped him solve the problem of his powers.  
  
_It's all to make us shine,  
I just know it!  
  
_ And shine the two had. Galadrea had been an excellent companion in the study of the magical arts, with an inquisitiveness and a facility for bending rules that complimented his own. Together, they had trained several apprentices in magic, and for the past year, Jareth's kingdom had been THE center of magical study in the civilized kingdoms of the Underground.  
  
_I love you, I love you  
I'm gazing at you with my heart!  
I believe--I believe in you,  
Even on the darkest of nights!  
  
_ Gala had trusted in him, believed in him, even when she knew she might have been in the gravest of danger from him. Jareth closed his eyes as he remembered the darkness of the prison that had held him after his blunder in the tower. Unable to escape, his powers gone, his mind in complete confusion, he had given up, not knowing what else to do. It was for only a moment, but he had given up. Then, a ray of soft light had appeared. Galadrea had come and set him free, even helping him figure out the mystery of his powers. All because that somewhere, deep inside herself, she had believed in him...  
  
_I call out to you now, with my tears,  
But I don't need any promises,  
That's the precious strength that  
you've given to me!_  
  
Then, her face as she lay dying swam before his eyes. Tears, whether of pain or love he didn't know, had trickled from her eyes as she caressed his face. Then, she was gone. With a ragged sigh, Jareth brought himself back to the chamber, with it's soft light faintly giving room to see by. As he listened to the unnatural stillness, he realized that the music box Gala had so loved had run down. Walking forward, he angrily reached out a hand to wind it again, but stopped. Instead, he gently closed his hands around the rosewood ornament, and with a silken cloth, slowly wrapped the music box. As he turned, a light breeze stole the covering shroud from Gala's face.  
Almost reverently, the King leaned forward and brushed a hand lightly against her hair, which had turned back to its pure white upon death. All of a sudden, a deep anger filled his heart. Once before he had stood by and let his love, Sarah, slip away from him, and live out a happy life married to man she loved. Hundreds of times he had wished it had been him, but after her rejection, his stubborn pride had refused to allow him to go to her. Now, another woman who he realized he had come to love as much as Sarah had slipped away from him also, a woman who secretly returned his love.  
Jareth's hand clenched into a fist, and his grip on the music box tightened. Well, damned if he was going to let death claim Galadrea. This time, he wasn't going to stand by as she was taken away. With a violent turn, Jareth strode out of the chamber, and headed for his study. There had to be a way to reverse things...  
  


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"Jareth, it's dangerous! Calling spirits back from the dead is a dangerous trick at best, and more often deadly. My sister is dead, don't make her death into a mockery!" Indros pleaded in both anger and fear. Most often when spirits had been called back to the realm of the living, they had been violently angry. When they had actually been called back to their bodies by mages, the results were even more unpleasant, with the spirit trapped in a rotting body, becoming an intelligent, free-willed zombie. Such was an anathema to both elves and half-elves. Now, Jareth, who professed to have loved his sister, was going to desecrate all that she had held dear.  
"Damn it, Indros, you don't know what you're talking about! Besides, I refuse to fail. I am the King of the Goblins, I am immortal, and I don't take orders from anyone, least of all you!" Jareth replied matter-of-factly, not taking his eyes away from the powdered circle he was creating. When finished, it would be a complete pentagram, which would act as a necessary gateway to bring Galadrea's spirit back to them.  
With a hiss of anger, Indros pulled his hair back into a ponytail, which somewhat resembled Jareth's. As if she had sensed trouble, Natela entered the room, her eyes instantly taking in Jareth's coldly calm mask and Indros's honest, anger-flushed face. More importantly, she saw the symbol and pattern that Jareth was creating and her face darkened. If he went forward with what she was sure he was trying to do, Jareth would ruin the plan. He would fail to bring Gala's spirit back, and give it up for lost. It would be impossible to destroy him. Natela needed Jareth to travel to the Abyss, away from his center of power. Resolving herself to something she had not wanted to do, she took a deep breath.  
"Jareth, Indros, I've got some very, very bad news," she spoke out, startling the two men. Behind her, several of Jareth and Gala's apprentices, who had heard Natela's voice, came into the room. Jareth looked at the drow in complete contempt and mockery. Indros face went from flushed to a sickly gray color.  
"And how, pray tell, could things get any worse?" Jareth asked, a decidely dangerous threat apparent in his voice. Indros looked into Natela's eyes, and his face regained a little of it's normal color.  
"Please, Natela, we need to know what else has gone wrong," he gently asked.  
With a nod, Natela kept a smirk from her face. Hook, line and sinker! "I was going over the banquet hall after everyone had left, and I found something I didn't like," she said, her face going extremely grave. "I picked up traces of a demonic presence, and using my magic I created a recreation of events, and I think you should see what I found."  
By now, all of the apprentices had come into the study, and Indros and Jareth traded glances. "Please, show us," Joshuan, the most senior of the former apprentices pleaded, his deep baritone rumbling through the large room. With a wave of her hand, Natela called forth a vision of the banquet hall as it had been two nights before.  
As the scene unfolded, the dwarf Hoggle stepped forward at Jareth's request for more wine. As all assembled watched the recreation of events, Natela covertly looked around. Indros's face was full of pain, while Jareth's face had gone even stiller, a dangerous fire flickering in his eyes. "Now," she whispered into the silence, "watch the left-hand corner!"  
As the scene of Galadrea's death unfolded, they saw a figure outlined in dark red appear in the recreation. The red figure was of horrific appearance, and all present knew that it was a lesser demon. Anyone who studied magic easily recognized such creatures! What shocked everyone was the fact that in it's clawed hand, the demon had a crystal pendant. As the miniature version of Jareth cradled the dying Galadrea in his arms, the demon raised the pendant, and a black ray of light shot from the pendant and into Gala's body.  
Then, a pale blue shadowed seemed to float up out of Galadrea's, as if it was struggling against something. As the tears ran from Galadrea's mortal eyes, the etheric being twisted in pain as it was pulled into the demon's pendant. With a silent howl of glee, the demon faded, Galadrea died again, and the vision stopped.  
Throughout the room, no one spoke, they were all horrified at the vision presented to them. Shakily, Indros pulled out a chair and quickly slid it under Jareth as the king collapsed into it. Then, slowly at first but gaining strength, the apprentices all began swearing, hissing in outrage, and talking about plans to retrieve their teacher's soul. A cry of outrage silenced them all once again, and even Natela jumped in fright. There, beside a furious Indros, stood an enraged Goblin King, clad in a black molded breastplate, his shimmering black cloak folding around him.  
"Natela Vandree," Jareth quietly asked, "is there anyway to enter the Abyss and find out where that demon took the pendant and Gala's soul?" At her wide-eyed expression, Jareth turned to Indros, who was in the middle of a good fiery rage as compared to Jareth's cold one.  
The same thought crossing his mind, the half-elf nodded his head. "There are many, and I can perform most of them. I'll need a little time, maybe a day or two, but I can find my sister's soul."  
From the crowd of apprentices, Joshuan stepped up. "Master Solardin was my master, as was Jareth. I'll help you in any way you need, Indros," the former apprentice offered, hatred and rage vying for control in his emerald green eyes.  
"Any help you can give Indros would be greatly appreciated, and should you be successful, you reward will be great," Jareth promised, silently raging that he could do nothing to aid in the search. While the spells under his command allowed him access to much of the Underground and the Aboveground, he had little experience with the realms of the Abyss, despite Galadrea's insistance that he study them as well. Jareth winced at that thought. I should've listened, he thought in self-recrimination. With a final nod, Jareth left the study, leaving Indros, Joshuan, and the others to their work.  
  


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Alone in his private room, Jareth slumped in his chair, going over spells of destruction that his research told him would be particulary effective against the various denizens he would encounter in the Abyss, for it never crossed his mind that he would not brave the realm of the damned to save the one he loved.  
Finally slamming the book shut, Jareth noticed a piece of parchment fly from between the pages of his book. Curiously reaching out a hand, he caught the flattened scroll before it could land in the fireplace. Written in a language he didn't know, Jareth waved his hand, silently casting a spell that would allow him to read magical writings. As his gaze wondered over the page, a deep feeling of dread settled in his heart.  
  
_In all the infernal realms of the Abyss, the most dangerous fiends are the tanari'i. Divided into subspecies, there are the Balors at the top, followed by the Mariliths, a species of tanari'i that appear as human females in the face and torso, but having six arms, and the lower bodies of humongous snakes...and among the most dangerous of the Mariliths is a creature that calls itself Heretona.  
Ambitious, she is known for sending her minions to steal the souls of powerful mages in an attempt to increase the magic under her command, and triumph over the balors in the hierarchy of the Abyss. Her favorite tactic is the use of mortal pawns to greatly wound the victims so that their defenses are almost completely destroyed, and then sending a demon servant to pull the soul from the body. You ask why the body is not killed and the soul obtained as it leaves the body for good? It is because when a body dies, the soul is protected by the diety that it worshipped in life, and is thus more protected at that time than at anyother. Attempting to capture a soul at the point of death would attract the attention of powerful good beings, that while less than gods, hae the ability to completely destroy such demonic minions and their masters with barely a thought...  
  
_ "Gods, Galadrea would have lived!" Jareth gasped as he came to the end of the section concerning Heratona. A tanari'i...that certainly explained a good many things, such as the feelings of uneasiness that had plagued both him and Galadrea the past few months. Along with that realization came the feeling of guilt. Hoggle had been aiming for him, not Gala, which meant that Galadrea was dead because a power-hungry tanari'i thought that Jareth would make an interesting acquisition. This changed a lot of things, and as Jareth sat contemplating the torture his love's soul would be put through, he felt a strong urge to destroy something. Unconciously, as the music box played softly, his fist clenched, crumbling the parchment to dust...  
  


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As the soul flickered back to conciousness, it looked around. A foggy, black, faceted void surrounded it. Remembered pain made the soul gasp. Slowly, memory returned, though it was hard to remember anything, let alone think straight. With a deep sigh, the soul shut out all distractions, and concentrated on its memory, for with memory would return life, and where there was life, there was always hope.  
  


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To Be Continued...


	5. Traitor's Luck- Chapter V

# Traitor's Luck

  


## Chapter V

  


#### By Northstar

  
  


Disclaimer: Ah,hell, you know the drill..warning, songfic at one point. ::shrugs::Couln't help it. I just knew some songs which were perfect for these next few chapters. The song by the way is the English translation for the song Pray from the Final Fantasy Vocal Collection #1  
  


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_From far and silent starry skies,  
Echoes a song full of life.  
Crossing a darkness of thousands of light years,  
It finally arrives at a single earth.  
_  
Alone in the darkness of the oubliette, Hoggle lay dying. The punishment Jareth had inflicted upon him had been more than the old dwarf could bear. However, the physical pain was nothing compared to the utter despair and guilt the had truly broken his heart.  
"Sarah, forgive me..." he whispered, his voice almost gone. Unseen tears ran down his face as he remembered how Sarah, reincarnated as Galadrea, had flung herself in front of the blow meant for Jareth. It wasn't supposed to end that way! he silently screamed. SHE had told him that Sarah would not be harmed, and would then remember who she was.  
As Hoggle lay there, thinking about the horrible thing he had done, he didn't notice that the oubliette was starting to fill with starlight.  
_Hoggle, my friend..._  
"Wha-? Whuh, who's there? Sarah?!" Hoggle tried to say, but the words would not come. Never the less, the spirit heard the words that echoed in his heart.  
  
_With eyes closed just so,  
Like a faraway prayer,  
So that one day  
Our Dreams will come true._  
  
_Hoggle, Galadrea was not me._ the form quietly spoke as it coaleseced into a young girl of about 15, dressed in a poet's blouse, a vest, and jeans. Her long dark hair cascaded down to the middle of her back, and a gentle, sad smile was on her face.  
Hoggle's eyes widened as the voice's revelation sank into his mind. "But, Sarah, SHE told me that--"  
_That I had been reincarnated, I know. I'm sorry Hoggle, but you were lied to, and turned into a pawn._ the spirit finished, deep sadness taking over her voice. Hoggle had been her best friend, and even though she knew what would happen, why it had to be him, it was still painful to bear. That he had to suffer so much was just not fair. *But whoever said life was fair?*  
  
_Time is so long that,  
These tiny palms can barely hold it,  
At the end of a million-mile voyage,  
We can still run across smiling faces.  
_   
All of a sudden, the light began to get brighter, and Hoggle found strength returning to his limbs. He could breathe freely again, and the aches and pains of age had faded! As he stood up, the old dwarf felt as light as a feather, and now he was standing in a starfield. Sudden understanding washed through him.  
  
_Now, wet with tears,  
As though deep in prayer,  
So that one day,  
Sadness, too, will end,  
_   
"I'm dying, ain't I?" he asked quietly, feeling mildly calm.  
Sarah nodded, smiled, and held out her hand. _Come on Hoggle, Ludo and Sir Didymus are waiting._ Straightening his vest, Hoggle took his old friend's hand, and together they walked into the light, where their other friends were waiting.  
  
_From far and silent starry skies,  
A song full of life can be heard.  
_   


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Jareth stood at the space where the gate had been. A harsh, barren landscape stretched out before him. Yes, he should have seen somthing like this coming, yet he had been a blind fool. However, the thought of what he had done to Hoggle made him feel a little better. With a sigh, the king drew his cloak around him and stepped onto the barely-there path.  
For what seemed like hours he wearily trudged across the featureless landscape, the bloody-colored sky radiating a fierce heat that almost scorched the breath from his lungs. Dust covered his once magnificent cloak, and the black of his clothes and armor was now a dull rust-color that resembled nothing so much as stained, age-dried blood. Stopping for a moment, Jareth opened his waterskin to drink from it, but the feywine inside had turned to dust. Swearing, he threw it down and brushed his sweat-damp hair back from his dust-streaked face.  
"Is there no end to this damnable wasteland?!" he asked furiously of no-one and nothing in particular. Rage would have seethed in him at the unchanging landscape, but he was much to weary to sustain it. Almost as if the landscape had a mind of its own and was listening, the ground began to rumble, first slightly, then with growing violence.  
Quickly muttering the words to a levitation spell, Jareth watched in horror as the wasteland buckled beneath him and then burst open, leaving a yawning chasm where the road had been. After opening, the landscape settled down, and Jareth cautiously approached the newly-opened portal.  
"Well, if this is a trap, I really have no choice, do I?" he muttered, a grin ticking at the side of his dry mouth. Descending into the midnight-black gap, he reminded himself that at least he was getting somewhere...though the 'where' in particular was not likely going to be pleasant.  
Just take me to Gala, he silently pleaded. Please, let me be in time!  
  


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In the castle beyond the Goblin City, it was safe to say that chaos was the rule. Ever since Jareth had turned up missing, Indros and Joshuan and Natela had done their best to keep the kingdom running as smoothly as possible. Having lived in the Underground, and more specifically Jareth's kingdom for most of his adult life, Joshuan was considered by the other former apprentices to be the leader. Unfortunately, Joshuan's talents did not run towards leadership.  
"I don't give a flying fig what Duke so-and-so said that Jareth said! No means no, I'm in charge until his majesty returns, and argue with me and I'll put a fireball up your ass!" threatened a very peeved Joshuan after dealing with another of the interminable requests from yet ANOTHER conniving snake from the Bethdar kingdom.  
As the offended naga slithered out of the chamber, Joshuan dropped into the throne and placed his head in his hands. "Great, what else can go wrong?" he asked rhetorically as several goblins ran through the throne room and caused some kind of catastrophe in the hall. To make matter worse, the goblins didn't even listen to him.  
"You certainly have a way with politicians, Josh," came Indros's tired but sympathetic voice. Raising his head, Joshuan looked at Indros and then at Natela who was always at his side since Master Galadrea's kidnapping, for that was what they had taken to calling it. A planned kidnapping gone wrong.  
"Aye, and I hope that that's the last one I have to deal with before Jareth gets back!" Joshuan remarked, briefly glaring at the couple as they started to chuckle at his predicament.  
"Why don't we switch jobs for a while, Joshuan? Indros and I take care of running the kingdom, while you go help the others do research on reclaiming souls?" Natela suggested, laying an ebony hand gently on Joshuan's shoulder. A pathetically hopeful look came over his face.  
"You mean that? You wouldn't mind?" he asked them, relief dominating his features as he stood up from the throne.  
"Go, get some rest! Natela and I can handle things for a while, okay?" Indros said, patting Joshuan on the back. Beaming in gratitude, the tired wizard stumbled out of the throne room, kicking a goblin on his way out. After he was gone, Natela and Indros exchanged looks, then burst out into laughter.  
"Oh, my love, I know it's not funny, but the man is just not cut out for being a leader, is he?" Natela asked between peals of laughter. Indros shook his head and sat on the throne, pulling his fiancee down onto his lap.  
"Unfortunately, no," he said, wrapping his arms around Natela's slender waist. "Maybe, since it's so late, we won't have anything to worry, about, eh?" Indros asked. Natela shook her snowy main of hair and gave Indros a deep, penetrating kiss.  
When the two finally surfaced for air, Natela replied. "Mmm. Hopefully not, lover." Of course, things would have to go wrong on their shift. Just as they were about to continue where they left off, another goblin ran into the throne room. Casting the creature glares that would have fried the creature if looks could kill, the couple separated, Natela moving to stand behind Indros.  
"Well? What is it?" Indros replied, slighlty peeved. While the goblin tried to collect its thoughts and remember what it came in for, a monumental task in itself, Indros thought, the half-elf smoothed back his mussed hair. Finally, after many minutes during which Natela started tapping her foot impatiently, the goblin finally remembered what it was reporting.  
"It's the advisor, you sister sir!" the goblin squeaked, his voice becoming anxious. "We -my friends 'n me- wuz guarding the body, and then, it suddenly started to dissappear!"  
"DISAPPEAR?!" Natela shrieked, her voice reaching octaves that made the glass in the windows crack, and Indros and all in range wince in agony.  
Recovering his hearing slightly, Indros questioned the little beast forcefully, getting up and striding towards the chamber that was serving as a make-shift chapel. "Come with me, and explain," he commanded, the goblin automatically following him. Trailing behind them came Natela, silently fuming.  
Upon reaching the 'chapel', Indros and Natela rushed to the bier that had held the body of Galadrea. Like the goblin had said, the bier was empty. As if sensing that his life depended on his next words, the goblin started explaining hastily.  
"We wasn't drunk or nothing, honest milord! We wuz watching the body carefully, since the white lady -that was what me n'the boys called her- was so important to the king. We wouldn't've let nobody n' nothing gets near it, honest! The White Lady, she jes kinda faded away..." he continued, his voice trailing off as Natela and Indros scrutinized him. The boy he had no problem with, as a matter of fact, he reminded the little being of the king after a fashion. It was that black elf that gave the goblin the creeps. It had heard the rumors about how they had enslaved the Aboveground cousins of the goblins, and it had heard rumors that the drow were far more cruel and evil and duplicitous than any other being in existence. No sir, it didn't trust the Black Lady the least little bit.  
With a sharp nod, Indros turned away from the creature. "Go, summon the other mages, but don't wake Lord Joshuan. He needs the rest, understand? Have them come here. We need to get this mystery taken care of. Natela?" he asked, turning to his love. Natela stepped closer, a quizzical expression on her beautiful face.  
"Yes Indros?" she asked, knowing what Indros was going to ask of her. Of course, she wouldn't be able to do it. There was no such spell in her repertoir. That other vision had been created totally by her, though odds are she had gotten a fair amount of detail precise. A few theatrics showing the hidden demon, and voila! Instant reaction.  
"I need you to cast that spell again, the one that allows you to review recent events. Can you do this?" he asked, putting both hands on her shoulders and looking her in the eyes, his face graver than Natela had ever seen them.  
"I can try, Indros, but I can't guarantee success. The spell only works when something that causes strong emotions happens. Though it cause confusion, I doubt it was strong enough to leave a mark on the border ethereal," she said, making up an excuse as to why she couldn't successfully perform the spell. When she failed, as she would since she didn't have a spell like that, her cover would still be complete.  
"That's all I ask, Natela," Indros whispered. Suddenly, he was aware that the goblin was still present. "You! What are you still doing here? I gave you an order, didn't I?" he barked, removing his hands from Natela's shoulders. Blubbering, the goblin turned tail and ran out of the throne room to complete it's assignment. Sighing, Indros once again traded an exasperated glance with his lady. She replied to his look by shrugging her delicate shoulders.  
"It's a goblin," she explained simply.  
  


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Slowly, bit by bit, the memories returned to the spirit as it sat trapped in the gem. As the last fragment slid into place, full identity returned, as did physical form, and Galadrea looked around anew at her surroundings.  
Drifting in place, she began to realize what had happened, and when she did she was furious. Though the space she was in appeared infinite, in reality it was a small pocket of the Plane of Shadows, and she was confined by the facets of the jewel that magical linked such a holding cell to whatever plane it happened to be in.  
Turning to one of the many facets, Galadrea called forth a dimensional gate, only to have the magic flow from her body and be absorbed by the facets. Ready to try once more, she stopped her casting when she felt the presence of a powerful, evil entity.  
*So, little mage, you are the bait that's to be used.*  
"Who in the Abyss are you?" Gala snarled, her face twisting in scorn and outrage. To her consternation, the voice laughed, and power was suddenly ripped from her form, leaving her gasping.  
*Little mage, I am Heratona, supreme commander of the marilith forces in the Blood War. Your magical powers are now mine to draw on, so I would advise you to behave yourself. I know of many ways to torture spirits -Indeed! I taught such secrets to the Drow matron Baenre herself!- so you would be well advised to cease your futile struggles and conserve your magical abilities.*  
"Like Tarterus I will!" Gala returned, concentrating her energy full force into a powerful, dimension-twisting spell that was rumored that not even tanari'i could stand against. However, unlike before, this time not only did the spell not work, but Heratona used her powers to suck the energy of the spell into herself before Galadrea could shape it.  
The marilith's laughter echoed throughout the dimensional prison as Heratona drained the magical essence of the half-elf, and sending racking pain through the captured mage's form. As wave after wave rolled over her, Galadrea began to weaken. As she once more faded into unconciousness, she prayed that wherever he was, Jareth was safe. For Galadrea had not missed that first comment about her being bait. And the only powerful being she could think she would be of any worth to was the man she loved, who she now knew loved her. Gala grasped that last thought and carried it with her into peaceful oblivion.  
  


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To Be Continued...  
  



	6. Traitor's Luck- Chapter VI

# Traitor's Luck

  


## Chapter VI

  
**By Northstar**  


  
Disclaimer: ::looks at audience::Everyone know the drill by now? Good. Now, enjoy the story! ::Northstar leaves the stage::  
  


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The darkness withdrew, and the robed priest stepped into the light of the Labyrinth. Crossing quickly, not hampered in the least by his heavy black robes, the priest made his way to the urn that led to the series of tunnels that catacombed Jareth's kingdom. Descending once more into darkness, which was not as complete as that which he had be consigned to after their first conflict, the former Father Petya, who had once been second in command of the force that drove Jareth from the Aboveground using the Symbol of Ravenkind, thought about the events that had led to this fortunate turning.  
"You alwaysss were an arrogant fool, your majesty," the priest muttered. Reaching the end of the ladder, the dark priest made his way further into the tunnels, going ever deeper into the heart of the Labyrinth. "Now, your arrogance will be you downfall..."  
  


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Softly flitting through the air, the tiny fairy watched in interest as the dark figure appeared and descended into the tunnels. Even from her aerial perch she could feel the waves of pure evil that flowed from the creature. With a shiver of fear, Gria headed for the castle. Joshuan would want to know about this! was her thought.  
  


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As the creature that was once Father Petya vanished into the depths of the Labyrinth, his old enemy, Jareth, King of the Goblins, was also descending into darkness.  
Bouyed by the heaviness of the air, Jareth scrutinized each level of the Abyss as he continuosly floated downward. The heat of the barren wasteland that was the doorstep to the Abyss faded, to be replaced by an icy cold that almost froze his blood. Glancing over, Jareth's eyes were treated to a scene of a frozen tundra, inhabitants standing and lying frozen in blocks of ice, or having turned brittle and blue with the extreme cold. The cold light that flowed outward turned both his eyes a frosty blue, and left a little of the cold in his bones.  
As he gratefully sank below that level, Jareth blew into his gloved hands to get them warmed up. With a newfound trepidation, he watched the ice crystals melt with the heat of his breath. The worst was yet to come. The sounds of a thousand voices crying out in agony assaulted his fine-tuned ears, and the sight which greated his eyes was horrific indeed.  
Demons of various shapes and forms were herding the manes into armies, screeching orders and snapping whips made of fire that seared the rotting flesh from the manes' forms. The stench from the cursed, bloated forms overwhelmed the king, and he gagged and retched. He knew that he had arrived at his destination. This level was where the marilith known as Heratona made her base.  
Whispering a spell of invisiblity, Jareth cautiously snuck by horrid armies. So these are the souls of the damned, he thought in morbid fascination as he held a cloth over his nose and mouth. _I remember coming across mention of them in one of Gala's tomes. These are the souls of those who commited evil acts, yet did not warrant greater punishment!_ Jareth shuddered as he continued on, searching for the creature that held Galadrea's soul in slavery.  
Unfortunately, for all his power, Jareth had never needed to deal with denizens of the lower planes before, so how was he to know that Heratona had ordered her armies to ignore him? Though he was indeed cloaked from mortal eyes, Jareth had left out one consideration: the denizens of the Abyss were not mortal...  
  


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"So, this is the little mage that has Petya so worried, is it?" Heratona laughed as she observed Jareth's form sneak past her oblivious minions. Her second set of arms crossed beneath her bare torso, the evil fiend wielded a wicked set of longswords with her upper arms and and heavy, enchanted battle axe in her lower arms.  
Around her neck, a crystal pendant shone with a dull light, the soul it held still recovering from the drainage of it's magical essence. Grinning maliciously, Heratona sent a jolt of energy into the crystal, bringing Galadrea to conciousness.  
  


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*Wake up, little mage! I have something for you to see!*  
Slowly, Galadrea opened her eyes, her form eagerly soaking up the little magical essence that Heratona had returned to her. "Wha s'it no, bitch?" she mumbled, shaking the cobwebs from her foggy mind.  
*Why, someone has come to try to save you, mortal! Your king!*  
Before Galadrea's horrified eyes, the clouds on one of the facet parted to reveal a dusty, tired, and weary Jareth cautiously making his way past Heratona's armies towards her castle-keep.  
"You foul-smelling, arrogant, half-bred snake witch! If any harm comes to him, rest assured that even if it costs me my life, I will destroy you!" Galadrea replied venemously, her hand shooting out to hit the facet. As the vision faded, Galadrea turned her face upwards.  
*Hah! Mortal, you are my slave, and soon shall your pathetic king join you. Do you know what is going on right now?* the voice of the marilith taunted Gala.  
"No, but I'm sure you're gonna tell me," Galadrea replied nastily, sarcasm and scorn almost physically cutting gray void.  
The marilith's voice came back smug. *Even now, the one who set this trap up for Jareth is even now setting his plans into action. Yes, the Dark Priest and Jareth have quite a history, didn't you know?*  
As Galadrea floated, stunned, her eyes became cloudy, and her surroudings faded. A scene unfolded before her vision, and as she watched the unknown scene, she had a feeling that what was being shown had happened long ago...  
  


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1,050 Years Ago...  
  


He ruled the countryside with an iron fist, his laws meant for everyone but him. He took what he wanted, and at the merest whim sentenced his subjects to death, or worse. For those who rebelled, death would have been preferable. Through his unlimited power, he wiped the intelligence and humanity from his victims, condemning them to near-mindless servitude in disfigured, horrifying forms. Goblyn King, they called him, though his true name was Jareth.  
For almost fifty years he ruled from his mountain fortress in a land of lush woodlands that held perilous dangers. The castle had been beautiful once, when it had been under the stewardship of the Von Zaroviches. It had stood against the forces of darkness, until it had been defeated from within by a creature of terrible power. The Von Zaroviches had been scattered, and now all manner of fell creatures wandered the lands, under his rulership. The worst of these were the lycanthropes, shapeshifters which looked human, but capable of changing themselves into fell beasts. Also allowing his violent, slavish goblyns free sway, Jareth the Goblyn King kept the populous firmly under his thumb.  
Only one beacon of hope was left in the land that had once been known as Barovia. That was the clergy, who gained their clerical powers from their patron god. However, such power was as nothing against the fiend in the castle. Jareth continued his rule of terror unopposed.  
But then, one day, the king woke up to find an army at his borders. An army led by Count Strahd von Zarovich, rightful ruler of Barovia.  
******  
"If we attack up the River Luna, we should have a decent chance against the goblyn army," Alec Gwilym, Count Strahd's second-in-command counciled his superior.  
"Gwilym has a point, my lord," Lord Victor Wachter put in, pulling his mail gauntlet from his hand. He looked over at his commander.  
Count Strahd had a cunning expression on his noble face, a face that was hardened by a lifetime at war. "If the clerics have done as they swore they'd do, they should have a weapon to use against the Goblyn King by now. Defeat the head, and the body dies, but we must clear the way to the head," Strahd explained. That idea went over well with his generals. Most of them had been with the Count since he first formed his army and set out to reclaim Barovia and the other lands that had been lost years ago. The only thing that stood in his way was the endless, mindless horde of goblyns that were completely under Jareth's control.  
Though many of them owed their lives to the clerics and their magical healing, many of these men had little use for faith in spiritual beings that seemed extraordinarily fickle. Faith was a luxury for the non-combatants and those who lived in times of peace. What counted to them was the abilities and intelligence of their commander. However, they were completely loyal to their liege, and would follow him to the death...most of them any way.  
After dismissing everyone from his tent, Strahd sat at the table, gazing at the map, and brooding over the loyalty of his soldiers. Lady Yllana, head of the clerics that travelled with his army, was most certainly loyal. She was a force for good, and the existence of a being such as Jareth was anathema to her and her god.  
Victor and Alec he was sure of also. The others though...perhaps one of the things that had contributed most to the Goblyn King's reign was that he allowed the Ba'al Verzi, a league of assassins free reign in his kingdom. Anyone could be Ba'al Verzi: the brother who you grew up with, your wife, by the gods, even the mother who bore you could be one of the infamous assassins!  
These assassins were extremely good, and extremely patient, often waiting years to make a strike while building up trust. It was this threat that was the most deadly.  
****************  
"Bah! What do I care if the heir to Von Zaroviches wishes to set himself against me? I will strike him down as I have done all the others!" the king scoffed, gazing at his reflection in the elegant mirror. His pale-blond hair hung in stylish whisps about his angular face, with the majority trailing down his back. He wore a white, ruffled shirt that was open at the chest, a gold, fitted vest, and white tights with black boots. Behind him, his small werefox informant kneeled in obedience.  
"My lord, the clergy has gone extremely silent. Not even our spies within the order know what is going on. They are up to something, something that I fear may overwhelm even your power," the little creature continued.  
"Enough, Sir Didymus! My rule is absolute, and my powers unmatched. Do not talk to me of the clergy either. They are a spineless group that I can wipe out with a toss of a crystal!" he exclaimed, a mocking tone in his voice. At that, he held up a hand and formed a small, clear, crystal sphere. He gazed into it, willing it to show him the face of this Von Zarovich pup that had dared to challenge him.  
The crystal remained blank, showing nothing.  
With a vicious curse, Jareth threw the crystal at the wall, watching with satisfaction as it shattered into many pieces, which then, with a soft tinkling, fell to the floor and vanished. "Well, what are you still doing here?" he asked peevishly of the fox creature.  
"As you command, my lord," Didymus replied, and quitely left his lord's chambers. Walking down the chambers, the noble werefox gently stroked his chinhairs. Though he was loyal to his lord, and would obey his every order, there were times when the knight felt as if he had given his oath of loyalty too easily.  
With a sigh, Didymus shook his head. The lot of a knight was not to wonder or question, but to obey. Still, he had to wonder about the outcome of the coming battle.  
*************  
It was a fierce and bloody battle. The forces of Count Strahd swept through the mountain pass and up the Luna, slaughtering the unorganized hordes of goblyns and lycanthropes by the hundreds. Wisely, the Count had armed a special unit of calvary and foot soldiers with silver and enchanted weapons to deal with the steel-resistant shapeshifters. As the battle raged on, the forces of Light began to tire, while Jareth's goblyn forces kept on coming, a seemingly inexhaustible supply.  
Meanwhile, at the Goblyn Castle, Jareth sat in his carved throne, a tight smile on his handsome face. His forces were taking a great many casualties, but they were mainly the worthless goblyns and now the Count's minions seemed to be tiring.  
Laughing, Jareth banished the scrying crystal, and drank from the wine cup that one of his female slaves had brought. Beautiful yet mindless, since he had wiped the memories from each of them, reducing them to mindless, eager-to-please children. Yet, they held no appeal for him. They were boring.  
At that moment, Sir Didymus rushed into the throne room. "My lord!" the fox-man yelped, his nature taking over for a minute.  
"Yes, what is it?" the king asked in a bored tone, not really paying attention to his retainer.  
"A force of warrior priests have appeared in the castle! They appear to have in their possession a holy artifact of tremendous power. As we speak, they are cutting their way through the castle guard in the courtyard!" Didymus explained, panting.  
With an angry snarl, Jareth leapt to his feet, his attire automatically changing to an all-black ensemble, complete with a flowing black cape. "Hold them off, idiot! How did this happen anyway? GO!" he shouted. Nodding his head, Didymus left the throne room, quickly making his way to the courtyard.  
"To me, men! We'll cut down these intruders like they are nothing! Success will be ours!" he cried to his soldiers, and was answered by their deafening cheer. "Well, then, CHARGE!"  
As one, Sir Didymus's troops crashed into the ranks of armored clerics and warrior priests, matching swords and spears against the maces and morningstars and flails. At the forefront was Didymus himself, supporting his troops in the thickest parts of battle. Chants to their god ringing out, the holy force slowly began making headway, the blessings of their patron guiding their aims and hearts.  
"Fall back!" Didymus cried as he realized that they were being overwhelmed. As he parried a blow with his sword, and blocked another blow with his shield, he missed the strike from behind. Turning at the last moment, Sir Didymus threw up his sword, barely deflecting the killing blow. Yet, the mace struck home, crashing down on his face. As everything went black, the loyal Sir Didymus reflected that death wasn't so bad...not as bad as the shame of living in defeat.  
The tide of battle surged around the body of the knight, and the priests forced their way to the castle's main entrance.  
****************  
Sensing the defeat of his guards, Jareth decided the best course of action. Something was wrong. He had held dominion over the land for over 50 years. The Von Zaroviches had always been worthy foes, but the priests had never posed any threat. Which was why he had allowed them to exist. Now, for some reason, his minions had started to decrease in power.  
The King turned away from the castle window and strode down numerous staircases to the entrance hall. Summoning the powers at his command, he cloaked himself in invisibity and awaited the priests. Time to put an end to those presumptuous fools.  
The sounds of battle approached, and then the doors were blasted open, flying off their hinges. As the holy warriors spilled in, they formed an honor guard around a group of high priests. A toss of a crystal was enough to cause the majority of the holy men and women to jump and look around fearfully. Laughing, he watched the effect as his melodius voice rang through the entry hall.  
"Well, well. The clergy finally grew a spine did they?" he laughed, slowly striding forward from the shadows. Weapons were raised, but the head priest motioned them back.  
"Goblyn King, your reign is over," the high priest pronounced solemnly. Jareth crossed his arms and smiled, showing his tiny fangs.  
"Oh really? As I recall, I have enough power in my smallest finger to wipe you all off the face of this planet, yet you can't touch me," he mused mockingly, his mismatched eyes ice cold and hard as adamantium.  
One of the other priests dropped his hood back and shouted out, "We now have a holy weapon, spawn of evil, one given to us by our god specifically to destroy you!" The youngish priest's amber eyes blazed out of his face from underneath an illkept mop of longish-brown hair.  
"Father Petya, silence!" the High Priest, Kir, admonished his junior. Jareth's eyes glimmered in amusement. _Well, well, what have we here? Dissension in the ranks?_  
"The time has come monster, for your reign to end. Your army is being defeated by Count Von Zarovich's forces, and now it is your turn," the high priest continued, holding forth a golden symbol, carved with runes of power, and shaped like a sunburst with a clear crystal in the center.  
"Really? Do try," Jareth hissed, power flaring around him and turning his eyes a pure white. A hurricane-force wind swept through the room, knocking many of the clerics to the floor. Kir, however, stood tall and proud, surrounded by Petya and the other lesser priests. The holy symbol flared with bright, pure light that came from the sun, creating a glowing, golden shield of sunbeams.  
"This is the Holy Symbol of Ravenkind, Goblyn King," Kir intoned, holding the symbol aloft. "It was specifically given to us to use against you. Your end is now!"  
Rays of light once against burst forth from the artifact, and a pure, focused beam lanced out from the center crystal, cutting through Jareth's defenses and striking him. Shrieking in agony, Jareth's powers faded, yet the holy light did not. Feeling himself weakening, Jareth looked up, hatred in his coldly beautiful eyes.  
"You think this is the end? Foolish priests! This is only the beginning, and if I fall, I'm taking you with me!" he spat, and with his last remaining strength, sent a crystal at the priests. However, the crystal missed Kir, and impacted against Petya instead.  
"No! NOOOOO!" the young priest screamed as he disappeared along with the crystal. Grimacing, Jareth reached deep inside himself, and summoned a power that he had hoped never to have to use...  
The burst of dark light engulphed them all, bubbling outward until it took in the entire castle and courtyard. Then, as quickly as it had exploded, the dark bubble retracted, taking with it all those in the castle, who had given their loyalty to Jareth, and the king himself. Left behind were the dead, and the forces of Light.  
Kneeling, High Priest Kir gave thanks to his god, while silently saying a prayer for Father Petya. It was there that Lord Strahd and his generals found them.  
  


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To Be Continued...

  
  



	7. Traitor's Luck-Chapter VII

# Traitor's Luck

  


## Chapter VII

  


#### By Northstar

  
  


Disclaimer: Okay...you all know what it is, though maybe you've forgotten. I don't own Ravenloft or any of the cannon characters. I'm just using them for background purposes. Same with Labyrinth, so on with the story.  
  


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The chamber most recently dubbed as the chapel for the purpose of storing Galadrea's body was now filled with all of the dead diviner's and Jareth's apprentices. Many were talking in loud voices, complaining on how everything was going wrong, why wasn't Jareth around and just where in the nine hells he disappeared to. closest to the bier stood three figures in solemn council.  
"Hur, it's obvious that Master Galadrea's body has gone to where her spirit was taken," the smallest of the three observed. Brodhurst, a young dwarf who had been one of Galadrea and Jareth's most talented apprentices, had, like Gala, made the lower planes and matters of interplanar travel his business. Even Gala and Jareth acknowledged Brodhurst as one of the most notable planar scholars to exist. And for Jareth to admit something like that out loud was a once-in-a-lifetime occurence.  
Natela nodded her head slowly. "It makes sense, Indros. During my time in Menzoberranzan, Matron Baenre, the old one, kept the soul of the first dwarf-king of Mithril Hall a prisoner in a talisman. When it was shattered during the time of troubles, the dwarf emerged whole and healthy, though confused. As soon as his spirit had regained its sense of self, the body had disappeared," she expounded as many of the other apprentices stopped talking to listen to her in morbid interest.  
"If that's so, then we know that wherever my sister is, she's healthy and alive," Indros realized with a sense of relief that removed the despairing cloud around his soul.  
"Yes, well, I wouldn't count on her being alright. Our teacher is still trapped in a dimensional pocket, after all!" Brodhurst reminded them. As faces fell amongst the apprentices, Indros began to chuckle, then outright laughed.  
"You really don't know my sister! You've only seen her when she was your teacher. If she still is the woman I remember, then right now Gala's madder than a minotaur with a sting in his arse! And a thousand times more dangerous, to boot!" Indros explained, smirking in devilish delight.  
"What's this about Master Galadrea's body?!" A voice rang out from back near the door. The other apprentices made way for a very bleary and grumpy-looking Joshuan. "Indros, what's happened?" he asked desperately.  
"It appears my dear sister's body has rejoined her soul, since she's evidently alive and well," the half-elf informed the just-awakened man. Yawning, Joshuan took the mug of hot brew that was passed to him. Cupping his large hands desperately around the cup like a drowning victim to a rescuer, Joshuan swallowed the nasty-looking drink all at once. The effect was almost instantaneous as his eyes lost their sleepy appearance.  
"Now, that's good stuff! Why didn't we have this around before?" he asked, a little more goodnatured. Chuckles swept through the room. Joshuan, his eyes bright with the light of inspiration, turned to the other three members of what everyone had dubbed the interim-ruling council. "We've only been focusing on Galadrea's spirit when we were searching, and limiting ourselves to the Abyss, correct?" he asked rhetorically.  
Natela and Brodhurst nodded. "Exactly. I take it you have another idea, Josh?" the dwarf asked his old fellow trainee, for the two had studied together, Joshuan mainly under Jareth, Brodhurst under Galadrea.  
"Of course! Natela, you said that those nasty little prisons encompass a small pocket of the border Etheal plane, correct?" Joshuan continued, while the others all stared at him in confusion.  
"Well, yes," Natela slowly said. "We know this because the prisons disturb the fabric of the plane and---OH!" she exclaimed as she realized unhappily where Joshuan was going with the idea. Unfortunately, the damage was done and there was no way she would be able to cover this plan up or disrupt it...at least, not without getting caught.  
Brodhurst also picked up on the idea. "And you thing we should search for such areas of disturbance in the Ethereal plane and work on destroying the prison from there!" he triumphly announced. Indros's eyes lightened up to their familiar sky-blue.  
"Brodhurst, Joshuan, you two are geniuses! With so many of us searching, it shouldn't take long to find the dimensional prison and free Galadrea. But...what happens then?" Gala's brother asked, his hope momentarily dimming at the last thought.  
"If it works like these things typically do, the crystal will shatter, freeing Galadrea wherever it was that the crystal was located," Brodhurst continued, then saw Indros's point.  
"But if the crystal is in the Abyss...I see your point, Indros..." the dwarf conceded. However, Joshuan smirked in triumph.  
"Ah, but I have left out one peice of news I discovered!" Triumphly, he held up a piece of a scroll. "I found this in his Majesty's study, by the spell books!" Joshuan announced to the room at large. The whispering and mutterings died down again.  
"This scroll details a marilith by the name of Heratona, and her whereabouts in the Abyss. It seems that she collects the souls of mages so as to feed off of their powers to enhance her own status. It's obvious where the crystal pendant is, and now I believe that the King has gone to retrieve it!" Joshuan finished, and almost immediately cheers erupted amongst all assembled, except for Natela.  
"Then, my friends, we should start looking for the prison on the Ethereal plane, and hope that King Jareth makes it to Galadrea in time to help her escape from this Heratona's fortress!" Indros announced. "Let's get to it!"  
With a renewed sense of hope, all except for the four members of the 'council' left the room in order to get to work. As they stood there, one on each side of the bier, Joshuan shook his head.  
"You make a good leader, Indros. They respect you," he commented, respect on his face.  
Natela gently put a hand on Indros's arm. "Joshuan's right, love. You have really taken charge...I like that in a man."  
"Aye, you've motivated them all right, kid!" Brodhurst admitted, a sour note in his voice. "Which leaves you in the job of running this kingdom while the rest of us search!" the dwarf chuckled ruefully. "I wouldn't wish it on anyone!"  
"Oh noooo..." Indros groaned. "Why me?"  
For the first time since the kidnapping, truly merry laughter rang out through the castle, bringing hope to all who heard it.  
  


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Jareth relfexively winced as the two lesser demondand guards passed by his hiding place. Heratona's castle guards were not the easily trickable manes that made up the bulk of her army, bu lesser demons from the plane of Tarterus. Though stupid, they were extremely observant and brutally bloodthirsty. The Goblin King counted himself lucky he had made it this far without running into any of the marilith's minions.  
_Now, why does that worry me?_ Jareth thought as a feeling of unease swept through him, leaving him cold as stone. _It's TOO easy...oh shit..._  
As if someone had read his mind and decided to throw all Hell at the mortal intruder, the passageway was suddenly filled with the light of numerous gate spells, spilling forth all sorts of lesser demons. And the majority of them were looking right square at him.  
"I don't suppose we can talk this over?" Jareth muttered as he drew his sword. As one, the ravenous horde of infernal beasts swarmed him, venom-dripping talons reaching eagerly for his pale flesh, screams of horrendous delight at having living prey. With a viper-quick slice, one of those demonic hands was severed.  
"Didn't think so!" Jareth replied to his own question as he laid into the demonic horde. With all the grace that came with being one of the Faye aristocracy Jareth easily dodged the clumsy grasps of the fiends.  
Effortlessly sliding through openings, Jareth's sword, having been enchanted as part of a series of experiments a few years ago, made short work of the toughest of beastial hides. The demons couldn't even touch the Goblin King as he moved through their ranks like a dancer performing a well-rehearsed scene.  
As if sensing danger behind him, Jareth smoothly whirled and launched a freezing globe at one demondand that had snuck behind him. Parrying yet another set of vicious claws, Jareth kicked out and shattered the frozen fiend. Yet still the creatures kept coming.  
_If this keeps up, they'll wear me out,_ Jareth grimly realized, and in that moment he knew that that was their plan. They weren't going to kill him, but seriously wound him enough that Heratona would be able to take his soul...and there was nothing he would be able to do about it.  
With a burst of anger and desperation, Jareth found his second wind and went fully on the offensive, seeking to end the confrontation as soon as possible. Scores of fiends were destroyed in the next few minutes as Jareth became a living weapon of icy death, slaying fiends with both ice spells and enchanted steel alike.  
Then, he saw it--an opening in the mob. Risking a bit of his concentration, the Faye swordsman called for a single word that encased the nearest fiends in ice, and allowed him breathing space. Cat-quick, he slid through the opening, taking several wicked slices from talons in the process. Then, he was out of the melee, the screams of the demonds behind him deafening.  
Without stopping to look, Jareth raced through an ornately-carved archway, slamming the doors closed behind him. Sword and spell at the ready, he turned to observe the chamber...  
  


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Shocked to the core, Galadrea tried to recover from the onslaught of images that Heratona had showed her of Jareth's past.  
*Are you shocked little mortal? I hope so!* came the shrill, cruel laughter of an eternal voice. *You see, your king isn't the person you thought he was! Did he tell you he cares for you? Ah, I can see he did! The Goblin King cares for no-one and nothing that is not useful. He would have tossed you aside one day, mortal. But you know this!*  
Galadrea's face froze in anger. The Jareth she knew acted nothing like the creature that had led the forces of Darkness in that place, Barovia. True, he was still arrogant and cruel at times, but he had never shown himself to be the evil fiend that Heratona had shown him as. Though taking an enemy down with him would fit into Jareth's personality, Gala knew that the Jareth she loved was nothing like the malicious creature of the past.  
"You are wrong, Heratona. That is one aspect of being mortal that creatures like you can never understand- the ability to change, to grow and learn," she stated calmly, sure of herself and her obswervations. "Maybe Jareth was that malicious all those centuries ago, but that is not the man that exists now. You know nothing, marilith!"  
*HOW DARE YOU?!* came the angry scream that vibrated the confining facets of the prison. As Gala shrank back and tried to ignore the painful lashes of energy that ran through her, she caught a gleam out of the corner of her eye. Raising her head slightly, she saw the figure of one of her old students...Brodhurst, she remembered vaguely through the pain.  
_I've got to let them know I'm here!_ Gala realized through the torture. A though suddenly came into her mind. Why not let the pain that was being inflicted on her take its natural course? With that, Galadrea stopped ignoring the racking agony that was her spirit, and accepted every drop of pain that could be wrung from the assault.  
Galadrea's scream was audible throughout the entire Border Ethereal.  
  


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The agonizing shriek cut Brodhurst and the rest of the searchers deep into their hearts. As one, Joshuan and the others magically homed in on Brodhurst's magical signature and planewalked to the source of the heart-shattering cry. There, it was plain to see, was a glassy disturbance in the Ethereal matter. Yet, it was as if it was unstable, for the jewel-like facets were vibrating, allowing the mages to see into the prison. What Joshuan saw almost killed him.  
Writhing in the spacial void created by the facets was Master Galadrea, who no longer had a voice to scream with. Even from where they stood in horror Joshuan and Brodhurst could see the evil force that was lashing their old teacher.  
"Damn it, what are we waiting for?!" Brodhurst shouted, and at the cries of outrage, all began to add their powers together into one powerful stream of magical energy that would shatter the prison.  
Hearts and minds joined together, adding the separate magical essences into one great pot. Mentally reaching into the pot, Joshuan and Brodhurst began to weave the magical forces into a single, destructive force. The magic that ran through all involved was like liquid lightning, both ecstasy and torment combined into one. Then, it was complete.  
Guided by Brodhurst, and supported by his friends, Joshuan launched magical bolt into the dimensional prison encasing Galadrea. Time slowed to nothing, and a dead silence rang out as the magical force cascaded into the faceted prison.  
The crystal walls shattered, and time sped up.  
  


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The foolish half-elf was finally asleep, Natela thought in disgust. Insisting on staying with him, Natela had not participated in the effort to locate Gala's prison on the Ethereal. It was bad enough she had provided the opinion that such a rescue was possible, and she'd be damned if she was going to aid one little bit in rescuing that bitch. _Indros Solardin, you are a fool..._  
In the dead of the Underground's night, Natela Vandree donned her _piwafwi_, the midnight-black enchanted Drow cloak that allowed the dark race to go unseen by non-drow eyes. Silently, the treacherous drow priestess made her way past the magical laboratory, and slipped down the dark corriders of the castle into the Escher room.  
With the inherent Drow power of levitation, navigating the room proved no challenge, and Natela disappeared into the dark heart under the Labyrinth. Landing lightly, Natela found that her co-conspirator was already waiting.  
"Did you bring it?" the dark priest once known as Petya asked ominiously.  
Shaking her lustrious white curls, Natela gave the priest a seductive smile. "Did you doubt I would keep my word? Of course I brought the amulet," she returned, taking a simple but elegant piece of jewelry from the inner lining of her cloak. Silently grinning, she held it out.  
"You are Drow, after all," Petya dryly countered, to which Natela bestowed an evil smirk.  
"Too true. Now, lets begin, shall we?" she asked impatiently. At the answering nod, Natela took her place on one side of the ancient obsidian alter, while the dark priest moved to the other.  
"Lloth! Goddess of the Drow, Queen of Spiders, Lady of Chaos, hear me! I, Natela Vandree, high priestess of House Vandree call upon your divine power to open a gate from Menzoberranzan, greatest of your cities, to this world called Underground. Lloth, answer your servant!" Natela cried, throwing her hands above her head, the five-headed snake whip at her side wriggling in anticipation. Slowly, dark light began to emanate from the black alter.  
"Bane! Unholy God of Violent Death, the Feared Destroyer, your servant Petya calls forth your diviner power to open a gate from this world called Underground to Menzoberranzan, greatest of the cities of the Drow. Bane, answer your servant!" Petya intoned solemnly, bitterness and hatred vying with the love of destruction in his one clear voice.  
"Powers of Darkness, answer us! Open the gate from Menzoberranzan, city of the Drow, to the world called Underground!" The two servants of darkness cried in unison, each channelling the power of their evil dieties into the amulet of portal summoning.  
Suddenly, the alter burst with dark lightening, spiderwebs engulfing the amulet as at the far end of the forgotten temple a black gateway opened. Silently, as if mere shadows, shapes poured through the open portal between the realms. Slender black-clad figures moved into the room, taking up guard positions.  
Almost immediately, the blue light of a driftdisk came through the interplanetary door, at the top of which sat Matron A'glenar Vandree, matriarch of house Vandree. The takeover of the Labyrinth, and through it the entire Underground, had begun.  
  


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To Be Continued...  
  



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